


23 Days

by cowboykylux



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Falling In Love, Light Angst, Masturbation, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: He’d been dreamin’ about ya, all sorts of dreams ran through his mind when he was laying in his cell, but the ones with you were the sweetest. Your lips like syrupy iced tea, kissin’ on him and laughing at his jokes and smiling at him. If he focused hard enough, it didn’t feel like he was in jail.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	23 Days

Clyde was just about finished up with his sentence, only had twenty-three days to go. Not that he was countin’ or anything. Well, maybe he was, counting down the days until he could see you again. If he had twenty-three days to go that meant he had already spent sixty-seven in here, locked up for some dumb cauliflower scheme that he didn’t even know if it actually was worth all the trouble. 

But you, you would be worth it. If only you were still around when his twenty-three days were up. He’d been dreamin’ about ya, all sorts of dreams ran through his mind when he was laying in his cell, but the ones with you were the sweetest. Your lips like syrupy iced tea, kissin’ on him and laughing at his jokes and smiling at him. 

Sometimes, when he could get away with it, he’d jerk himself off, thinkin’ of your pretty face. He wondered if you thought about him too, if you touched yourself to his picture. He wished he had your picture. He saw you in his dreams just about every night, your tits out as you bounced on his cock, riding him into the mattress. If he tried hard enough, it didn’t feel like he was in jail. 

He’d told you that he loved you, the night before he was supposed to crash the car. The two of you had been at Duck Tape, drinkin’ up a storm, and he had said those three words, finally had the courage to blurt ‘em right out, said them with more longing than you probably knew what for. He couldn’t tell you o’course, couldn’t tell you that he was going to go away. Ninety days. Only twenty-three to go. 

You’d said them back, and you’d meant them, every word of ‘em, but Clyde worried. You came to visit him twice a week, smiled and pressed your palm into his, and he still worried. He didn’t think he’d ever stop worrying. The buzzer for lights out sounded, and Clyde rearranged himself back on his cot, closing his eyes and hopin’ you’d come around in his dreams again. 


End file.
